


Haunted House

by Mamichigo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, ghost au, if i had to rate i'd say this is 5/10 in the angst scale, murder is also implied but not graphically described, so not that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamichigo/pseuds/Mamichigo
Summary: "I thought I had forgotten youBut your name is still hereYour words are still hereLingering in the corners"-The bad thing about being a ghost is that not letting go of the past is part of the whole not moving on thing.





	Haunted House

**Author's Note:**

> To Serena.  
> We developed this au together, so of course it had to be in my list of things to write for you. Accept this humble offer in the form of angst.
> 
> Title and summary are from a poem of mine.

There are different types of silence, but they are easily separated in two categories: the ones that make life a little bit more bearable, that bring with them a sense of calmness; or, the ones with an angry touch, the ones whose nails pierce your skin, that leaves you one with the urge to watch everything around you break, just to get rid of the silence.  
  
Kokichi is currently stuck somewhere between the two. He wishes to be left alone to quietness, but the noiseless ambient only contributes to making his thoughts louder. It sounds like white noise coming from a television with no signal, playing at full blast somewhere in the back of his mind.  
  
He lets out a long sigh; making no sound, without disturbing the air around him. The result doesn’t make Kokichi feel any better. And so, bent on disrupting the silence, Kokichi cups his hands around his mouth and gets himself ready to scream.  
  
Before he can go through with it, however, he’s interrupted by the sound of glass being crushed.  
  
From where he’s floating, high enough to reach the top of one of the huge windows in the room, Kokichi whirls around to face the direction the noise came from. His eyes meet Akamatsu’s curious and worried ones; she doesn’t speak. Kokichi takes a deep breath – as useless as the action is – and opens his mouth for a yell.  
  
“You shouldn’t do that, you’ll end up breaking the windows again,” Akamatsu says with a smile, but her tone is cautious, as if talking to an angry animal.  
  
Kokichi observes the broken glass beneath Akamatsu’s feet, which had been there since just a few weeks ago. It had been his first moment of instability in front of the girl; Akamatsu, unsure of what the best course of action was, had insisted on talking to Kokichi, in an attempt to make him feel better. Given the broken windows, it’s easy to see how successful that plan was  
  
He wasn’t deep enough in his own emotions to cause the same problem again, so he simply looks to Akamatsu with a blank expression instead, arms falling to his side. The girl doesn’t look any less nervous even after the motion.  
  
“I was wondering how you’re doing today?” She asks slowly, but seems to judge her own words to be the wrong ones for the moment, waving her hands in front of her face as a sign for him to ignore what she just said. “I meant to say, I felt like playing piano and I was thinking that maybe you’d like to be my audience? Playing to myself is a little lonely.”  
  
The sentence leaves a perfect opening for Kokichi to question her; considering the years she spent in the concert hall with just herself for company – and the curious people in search for a good scare -, one more day would be nothing in comparison. But, maybe, exactly because of her lonely past Akamatsu is seeking him out, even when Kokichi is clearly unwell.  
  
He could rub all of that in her face and just watch as both her smile and enthusiasm disappear. The silence stretches between them.  
  
“I’m guessing that’s a no… Sorry, I’ll leave you alone, forget I said something,” Akamatsu says quickly at the same time she starts walking back quick enough to be considered a jog.  
  
The scrape of more crushed glass makes Kokichi rubs his ears in irritation, as the noise vibrates unpleasantly in them. Kokichi doesn’t understand why Akamatsu, a ghost, goes through the hassle of walking, instead of simply floating around. She tells him it’s “a habit she couldn’t get rid of”, but the boy thinks she probably just didn’t even try. Eleven years is more than enough time to forget a habit, no matter how intrinsic to your existence it used to be.  
  
Kokichi groans loud enough to be heard. Akamatsu pauses.  
  
He makes his way towards the girl, floating lazily until he’s close enough to wrap his arms around Akamatsu’s shoulders.  
  
“I hope it’s not boring, or else I’ll leave you alone with your stupid piano,” he deadpans quietly.  
  
If Kokichi were talking to someone else, he knows he’d be making them uncomfortable, especially with how unfriendly he sounds. Akamatsu, however, visibly gets excited, eyes small due to the big grin on her face.  
  
“Great! I’ll play the best songs just for you!”  
  
Akamatsu leaves the room behind, easily dragging his floating body along, since the ghost has no weight. Through the open doors, Kokichi watches the room grow distant to their moving body; the poorly lit place allows only a few slivers of light through the broken windows, which makes the dust in the air and the vegetation growing through the cracked ground visible. It’s like a silent call for him to come back, and he almost regrets accepting Akamatsu’s invitation.  
  
Remembering, however, that he couldn’t feel the sunlight on his skin or smell the little flowers in there, the boy tilts his head down until his face is completely hidden in Akamatsu’s hair.  
  
Kokichi pays no attention to his surroundings as they make their way to the concert hall – where the piano is always present -, and his lacking senses don’t help in figuring out which corridors they’re passing by. When the girl’s feet hit the floor, they sometimes make noises, but not always.  
  
And so, like a powerless human being carried away by the strength of the ocean’s waves, Kokichi’s thoughts drift away, distant from the shore. The boy wonders when he’ll drown.  
  
Kokichi only realizes he’s already been brought to their intended place when Akamatsu moves to a different position. When he looks up, his eyes meet the black and white keys of the piano, with the girl’s fingers hovering over them as she prepares herself to play.  
  
Kokichi lets go of her shoulders and moves so he’s floating just an inch above the piano bench, with his back leaning on the girl’s side. He closes his eyes again and waits for the first song to start.  
  
He listens as the notes of something fast paced but melancholic fill the air. If Kokichi had to explain what he was listening to, he’d say it’s the representation of being so full of sadness that all emotions turn into anger. Like smashing something against a wall with tears in your eyes.  
  
He doesn’t appreciate the irony in the song choice.  
  
Despite the mild aggravation and the dark atmosphere of the music, he finds himself relaxing and just enjoying the melody. After all, listening to the piano is a better option than the claws of the silence. His mind in plagued by thoughts, by memories, but the pain – and how laughable it is, that a ghost can feel pain – that has been lodged in between his ribs is now getting a bit more bearable.  
  
Kokichi would say he can breathe easier now, if weren’t for the fact that his air ducts have no use for him in his current body.  
  
The sudden relaxation leaves Kokichi tired, his fingertips tingling uncomfortably, eye heavy. The boy would just have succumbed to his own exhaustion, but a heavy squeeze on his shoulder keeps Kokichi from doing so.  
  
“Stay with me,” Akamatsu says firmly and Kokichi, with great effort, glares angrily at her. “Your existence, it’s getting unstable.”  
  
Kokichi shudders when he hears those words: the boy knows firsthand how torturous it is to lose control of your own spiritual manifestation. The instability provokes a loss of consciousness, turning the ghost into a mess of fragments – pieces of your personality, of your past, of your thoughts, of your emotions. Physically, no difference could be seen; but, mentally, it’s like being stuck in limbo as nothing more than a slimy puddle of disgusting sensations.  
  
So, despite wanting to go against Akamatsu, he nods in understanding and forces his eyes to stay open, staring at the high white ceiling, and counting the cracks he sees there.  
  
“Do you have anything you want to play?” Akamatsu asks in a gentle tone.  
  
“I don’t know any piano songs. I didn’t have time to waste with useless stuff like that, you know!” Kokichi says, not caring that it’s, in a way, cruel of him to do so. However, it’s not exactly a lie: when he was still alive, he rarely got enough of a break in which he could just sit down and appreciate some music.  
  
Or the money to let himself enjoy little things like that.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be classic music! It can be pop music or something like that.” Akamatsu is clearly trying to include him in the “concert”. Due to a misguided sense of responsibility or pity, he isn’t sure.  
  
“My mom didn’t like music. She was a strange woman, go figure!” He says simply. Akamatsu snaps her mouth shut.  
  
The girl doesn’t ask about his mom, just like Kokichi doesn’t question how she could play the piano, knowing she was killed with the wires of one. It’s the right thing to do, or some shit like that.  
  
“C-C’mon, I’m sure you have a song you remember. You know, maybe something you heard on the radio or on TV for a few seconds?” Akamatsu insists, smiling in encouragement.  
  
And it’s like a gun just went off, Kokichi can even feel the bullet going through his skull with abrupt and sharp pain, leaving him wheezing and gasping for air, the sensation of breathing all wrong causing tears to come to his eyes.  
  
He remembers a song.  
  
The television was on in the background, as it usually was when his mom desperately attempted to drown out the noise in her mind – or, sometimes, her own screams. This time, however, instead of sitting in front of the TV, watching with glassy eyes, she was before him at the tiny dinner table. The smell of food filled the air, inviting Kokichi to try out the meal in his plate.  
  
The boy, highly aware that this was the first time his mom had cooked for him since he was seven, knows pretty well that something dangerous has been mixed in with the ingredients.  
  
The soft voices from the movie playing on the screen reach him, along with the soft melody of a song. Kokichi remembers thinking it’d be something he’d listen to if he ever got drunk, alone in his room and unable to sleep.  
  
As the thought crosses his mind, Kokichi swallows a few forkfuls of his food and, simply like that, he chokes and coughs, breathless and trembling. His nails dig into the skin of his throat, tearing some of it away and leaving traces of blood behind. The sting of it is nothing compared to the fire burning his lungs from the inside out, until they collapse into themselves.  
  
His hands frantically make their way back to his neck, but they’re stopped before they can reach his goal. Kokichi knows well that there wasn’t anyone in his memories that would have stopped him from doing it, so his head lolls to the side so his eyes can search for the source of the interruption.  
  
Blinking in quick succession to clear his vision even if just a bit, Kokichi looks at the deformed silhouette before him. It’s as if a dream has just materialized, and he can only stare as the shape that vaguely resembles a human melts, while a black slime oozes from it.  
  
His stomach spasms at the same time his esophagus does, and Kokichi distantly realizes that he would be throwing up, if he were still a human.  
  
The hands which held on to his wrists – firm, but still gentle –, move to cup his cheeks between them. He is forced to look into lilac eyes.  
  
“Ouma, it’s okay,” the disembodied voice says, and, for a split second of madness, he wonders how the words are being spoken by the eyes focused on his, almost unblinking. “You’re with me now, not in the past.”  
  
Kokichi continues to gaze upon the creature, not understanding what it is trying to tell him, words turning into water and slipping through his fingers, while he’s powerless to do anything to stop it from happening.  
  
“Kokichi,” his shoulders jolts violently, unused to the sound of his own given name, “I’m your friend. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. I need you here now, could you make me a favor and stay with me?”  
  
The air enters his lungs uncomfortably, a clumsy and noisy breath. His eyes are glued to the fingers of his own hands as he moves each one with jerky movements, seeing that they’re, in fact, his own. It’s just then that his mind once again processes that he doesn’t need oxygen to survive.  
  
Kokichi’s body hurts, fire and thorns still reside inside his useless organs, but the boy can see more clearly and his chest is no longer breaking into painful pieces. Hovering over him, Akamatsu looks worried, but she smiles genuinely, even if the curve of her lips is a small and soft thing.  
  
His hands tremble, weak and hesitant, but the girl holds them in hers, helping Kokichi on keeping them still – or at least pretending they aren’t shaking.  
  
A second later, Akamatsu wraps her arms around him, and it’s then that Kokichi finally takes notice of the tears silently streaming down his cheeks. He holds on to her tightly, letting the girl’s presence calm him down. Kokichi vaguely wonders what the logic behind a ghost being able to cry is; the absurdity of the situation rips a hushed laugh from him. His friend caresses his cheek in sympathy.  
  
“Akamatsu, I couldn’t think of any songs, so how about you choose one especially for me? Something cheery, I’m tired of all the melancholy!” The cheerfulness in his voice doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his tone like an out of tune note trying too hard to pass as actual music. If Akamatsu notices, she doesn’t comment on it.  
  
She leaves him to pick up the pieces of his own mask in peace.  
  
“You can leave it to me, I’ll play something that you’ll definitely like, Ouma!” She agrees with determination, which contrasts harshly with how hesitant the kiss she gives to his forehead is.  
  
It’s funny how, even if the two of them have been dead for years now, Akamatsu still is cautious when touching him. It’s a gesture that he appreciates, and the fact that the girl paid enough attention to notice how much he longs to be touched, while also being uncomfortable when it comes out of the blue or when the touch lasts for too long really says something about how Akamatsu takes his well being into consideration.  
  
This time, when Akamatsu starts playing, Kokichi has his head on her lap, listening to the sound with interest. The girl follows the melody with her voice, singing softly; while the tune is, indeed, cheerier than the previous song, the lyric are somewhat bittersweet. Kokichi smiles in amusement, but doesn’t complain about her choice.  
  
Despite the pain, and the slight fogginess still present in his mind, Akamatsu’s voice makes him think that it’s okay. She said she’s with him, didn’t she? Then it’s fine; he isn’t alone.  
  
Unlike the years he spent alive, Kokichi’s only company isn’t the silence anymore.  
  
When Akamatsu finishes playing, Kokichi holds her hand and doesn’t let go.

 

* * *

 

“I've got a hole inside my chest  
Until it fills up  
I won't be satisfied”

\- Look how far we've come, by Imagine Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> The song at the end is what Kaede is playing to Kokichi. The song Kokichi heard coming from the tv is Staying Up by the Neighbourhood.  
> Find me on tumblr: @mamichigo


End file.
